Hi, Mom
by JohnnysTuffMustangs
Summary: /He frowned. "Maybe you should get some dirt on your pants," he replied, and I looked down at my perfectly new black slacks./ Kurt visits his mom in the cemetery. Klaine. Abused!Blaine. Read, and enjoy!


**Story inspired by the picture found here: .com/post/3820140991/kurt-telling-his-mom-about-blaine-i-drew-this#notes**

**This will be a full fic. I don't know how many chapters yet. There will be abused!Blaine, and at least for myself, it will be a tear-jerker.**

**I hope you enjoy it. If you have any ideas or scenes you'd like to see, let me know in a review?**

**Eventual Klaine. I promise.**

**Review, please. I love you guys.**

"Don't cry."

I looked up to see who was talking to me. I had been staring at my mommy's gravestone, even though Dad had told me to go back to the car. Her funeral had just ended, and he was busy talking to some man in a long, white robe. I was scared that I would never see my mommy again, even though Dad had said that we could come back and visit anytime I wanted.

Anyway, the voice belonged to another boy, my size and dressed in dirty jeans with an ugly t-shirt. I meant to tell him that I wasn't crying – after all, boys weren't supposed to cry – but the words got lost on the way out. "You know you have dirt on your jeans," I said instead.

He frowned. "Maybe you should get some dirt on your pants," he replied, and I looked down at my perfectly new black slacks.

"How do you mean?" I asked. I had never heard of people getting dirt on their pants on purpose. Mommy had always told me to stay away from mud, and she had always made Dad change out of dirty clothes after work.

He didn't answer. Instead, he looked towards my mommy's grave. "Who's this?" he asked, turning once more to me and staring into my eyes. He had eyes kind of like mud, but cleaner. For some reason, I couldn't turn away.

"Mommy," I said, fighting to hold the tears steadily in my eyes. I didn't want him to see me crying anymore, especially after he had caught me before. "She was in a car crash." I looked back towards my car, thinking about my dad, and how he wanted me to go back to it. "I don't like cars much, anymore."

"Don't be afraid of cars," he smiled. His head cocked to the side, and he reached out for my hand. "Come here, I'll show you what I mean."

I didn't take his hand. Boys weren't supposed to hold other boys' hands. I shook my head to tell him that I wouldn't hold his hand, and for a second, he looked hurt. Something shot through those eyes of his, and it sent something shooting through my entire body.

"Well, then just come over here then. Let me show you." He turned again towards my mommy's grave, and he kneeled down right on the dirt! He picked a dandelion right out of the ground, and laid it on the stone. Then, he reached forward and hugged the stone.

"Stop!" I yelled. Who was he to touch the gravestone that marked my mommy's death? I didn't even know him.

"Come here then!" he said back. "You do it. I don't even _know_ your mother. I'm sure she would rather have _you _hugging her."

"No! She wouldn't want anyone doing that!" The tears started to come back, and this time I couldn't fight them. "You're ruining it by getting your gross jeans in the dirt and now she's going to think it's my fault!"

"Kurt!" my dad screamed from where he was standing. "Excuse me a second," he muttered to the man in the robe, and he came jogging over to where I was. The boy was still kneeling on Mommy's grave, and I was still telling him to get up.

"Come on, bud," my dad continued, picking me up. I kicked and squirmed, not wanting to leave yet. I wasn't done with this boy, and I didn't want him to win.

"No! He's ruining Mommy's grave, Dad! He's kneeling on it!"

"Kurt, stop it."

"No!"

"KURT!"

"Is something wrong?" A woman had appeared, and I knew at once that it was the other boy's mommy. She had the same wild, curly, brown hair. She was staring at Daddy and me with something that looked unkind, and it immediately made me stop fighting. The kid got up at once, and he hung his head.

"I'm sorry, Miss," Dad said. "My son's just a little upset."

"I can see that," she drawled. "But I don't see why my son was brought into it."

"It's okay, Mom," the boy said. "It was my fault."

"I'm not surprised," the mom said accusingly. "Now get back over by your dad, and visit your sister. It's your fault she's in here, and I expect you to sit quietly while we get things in order."

The boy looked heartbroken, and I felt bad for yelling at him before. He started to trudge back over to the man standing a few rows back, also staring at a gravestone. Dad's mouth was wide open, and he placed me back onto the ground.

"You shouldn't talk to your son like that," he said, much to the dislike of the boy's mom.

"Don't tell me how to talk to my family, sir, and I would hope that you would teach your son a little more respect. Now, if you don't mind, I am going to go back to my daughter." She turned immediately, and Daddy watched her walk, staring.

Then, he grabbed my hand. "Come on, bud," he said. "Let's go. We'll come back to see Mom tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," I whispered, looking back at the family. "Do you think they'll be back tomorrow?"

"I don't know," he said. "I hope not."

I didn't say this, but I hoped that they would be. I turned my head around again, and I saw the boy kneeling in front of and hugging a different gravestone, which I guess was his sister's. I saw tears in his eyes too, and then suddenly, he looked up. Our eyes met for the second time that day, and he waved slowly, trying to smile.

"Stop it, Blaine!" his mom screamed, watching the interaction take place. "You have no business with those people."

I think my daddy heard, because then he picked me up and carried me the rest of the way to the car. I closed my eyes, strapped into the back, and I wished that I had been brave enough to get my new black slacks dirty.


End file.
